The Passage of Time
by DeFier
Summary: Classic Series, Q/R When Wily returns to his fortress carrying not only a stolen time machine, but with none other than a reprogrammed Rockman in tow, Quickman can't shake the feeling that there's something decidedly off about this new arrival.


**_Disclaimer:_** I do not own Rockman or any related characters, ideas, themes, or places. This is simply a fanfiction I concocted in my (limited) spare time, to amuse myself and others, and hopefully put a smile on a few people's faces.

This story contains elements of Boys' Love. Read at your own discretion, if that is a problem for you for whatever reason. It is also rated for the swearing involved. Other than the cursing, it's surprisingly tame.

So, if you will, please read and enjoy! And review if you have time; I love to hear what people have to say, and I can promise that I will respond to any comments you may have via e-mail. 3

- - - - -

There was no way he could ever fathom what had been going through Wily's head as he thought to inact the plan he had.

_If I can't construct a robot to take care of Light's brat, then I'll have Light's brat take care of himself!_

Probably a somewhat understandable idea, at face-value. But things with Wily were rarely, if ever, taken at face-value. Rather than construct some elaborate scheme of self-doubt and general confusing mindfuck to play with Rockman's head and get rid of him--as he _should _have--of course Wily had to go for the ridiculous route instead, steal a time machine, all that. _A time machine_. Just thinking about Wily screwing around with time any more than he already had made him ache, that little spot where what should have protected him from Flashman's unusual abilities that throbbed and subdued and killed him whenever it was activated, trembling and threatening to take him over and finish him off. Why hadn't someone removed that by now, anyway?

But here Wily was going again with time and Time Machines, and not even Time Machines he built himself! He had to go and steal one with a big fancy name just because he thought it sounded cooler than a regular Wily Time Machine or something like that. And since he was already on a roll with the ridiculous, of course it never occurred to him that if his plot went through by some absolute (and random and stupid) miracle, he'd end up tearing apart _time_ by the very fabric, and then what would the point of winning be?

Even he couldn't have imagined he'd see the doctor running back with that little blue body in tow, though. How far off did he have to go to catch him off guard, and how'd he get him and get him back, and what was he planning to do with him now that he had him? That last one really got him, because there were a number of weird things he could unfortunately picture Wily doing. The least of which was dressing him in green and giving him a pogo stick.

Leave it to Wily to do the dumbest possible, as always! When WIly had come bursting back into the middle of everyone flailing his arms and yammering about "Quint" and "finest plot" and "day of reckoning," hardly anyone had really cared to hear him, but looked up anyway because they were eager to see his rennovations to their universal enemy--that happened a lot, not for the same reasons but still a lot and he wondered if Wily knew that his robots tuned him out so much. Didn't really care, though.

"Quint" followed his new master into the room as obediently and silently as if he were completely spellbound, turning the curiosity of the other robot masters even more tightly. He himself felt his eyes widening, mouth opening, no words but _shocked_ that the doctor had managed--had he really managed to bring Rockman to their side? It was totally impossible, and yet...

He swallowed the awkward decrease in the speed of his thoughts as Wily snapped "Quickman! Don't give me that stupid look. What, are you surprised that I could so easily possess Rockman?" Yeah, sort of, but as if Quickman was going to own up to it, especially with the vacant, shaded eyes of Rockman or Quint or whoever staring at him from across the room. Was he really staring at him? The blue sunglasses covering his eyes made it difficult to discern, but he felt the intenseness of his gaze. "He's no different than any other Light Number!"

That wasn't true, but it sort of was, and seeing Quint now certainly lent itself to Wily's arguement. Quickman stared at the green-armored, expressionless figure that had once been the Rockman he knew so well, and Wily laughed.

"And soon, he'll be out there taking care of his greatest enemy yet!" He paused to emphasize the dramatics of a clever villainous monologue. "Himself! Ha! Hahahaha!" The laughter continued, and a small, unnerving smile appeared on Quint's lips. The mad doctor clapped his hands, then turned and strowed briskly from the room, coat billowing behind him, and laughing to himself, "Who thought that advocating self-harm could be such a fun experience?"

The door shut abruptly behind him with a slam, leaving the robot masters alone with the newest addition to their ranks. The air was taught with the awkwardness that they were now all free to express, but Quint's eerie smile never faded. A few of them turned and looked between one another in hopes of acquiring some kind of answer as to _what they should do now_, but everyone seemed to be stricken with the same problem. A very subtle, very quiet shift in the silence suddenly caught their attention.

Quite quiet; for a moment, no one really knew where to look, except for Quickman, who had failed to take his eyes off of thier new companion, and therefore saw the tiny shift in his body. But it happened again, and all eyes were on Quint as the boy began to laugh. Not just laugh--reel with giggles. The light-hearted display should have eased the tension, but coming from Rockman (and Quint especially, as it was a universal unsaid agreement that Quint was more terrifying than Rockman was ordinarily) it only served to make the others more uncomfortable.

"Ah, that Wily..." he said, speaking for the first time. He had Rockman's voice. "He can be really full of himself, can't he be? I don't want to admit it, but I did sort of miss him, I guess..."

Miss him? Why would Quint miss Wily... for any reason, really? And where did this display of emotion come from? Quint had been totally brainwashed by Dr. Wily when he was reprogrammed, yeah, that was why he looked so vacant and blank when he first came into the room, right?

"...Heh," he started to laugh again, sending another streak of nervousness through the others. "What's with the shocked expressions? Can't a D-R-N turned to the D-W-N side do so without a big change in personality? If that's the case, where would that leave misters three through eight?"

By "three through eight" Quint meant the predecessors to Wily's first wave, the D_R_N numbers of 003 to 008, Cutman through Elecman. Quickman couldn't _really_ argue the point (he could if he tried--Rock was so much different than any other Light number that he couldn't be lumped into the same category as them--and he really needed to think of him as "Quint!"), and avoided saying anything.

Quint took note of the uneasiness; "You heard Dr. Wily--" suddenly he donned an expression mimicking that of the crazy doctor, and recited in a silly voice, "Aiy'm no diiffrent dan aeny ozer Light nomberr!"

Making the situation all the more bizarre, but instigating a few snickers from around the room at his interpretation of Wily. And seeing his progress in getting the others to be comfortable around him, Quint smiled _again _(why did he keep smiling like that? He was surrounded by guys who were built to kill him). "Oh," he added quickly, "but don't tell the doctor. Give him the satisfaction of thinking he has total control over his nemesis."

Quint was weird from the start, Quickman could tell, weird being an understatement, _crazy weird-ass nonsensical piece of work_ being slightly more accurate, and with a slice of futureshock thrown in. As the day progressed he eased into the company of the other robot masters. Or, rather, he acted like wandering amongst them was completely normal, and the others slowly came to accept this as well. Even Quickman mostly came into the idea. He would have completely come into it, but no matter what the circumstances of the day, if he was in the proximity of Quint he couldn't shake the feeling that Quint was making a concentrated effort to make use of this fact. Quint was taking care to_ talk _to him, or bring him into conversations, _standing_ by him, or sometimes he was following him as he paced aimlessly around the fortress.

But mostly, Quint was staring at him. Quick never actually caught him doing it, because of those blue shades over his eyes, but he could feel the other android looking him over at every opportunity. Sometimes it'd be just for a second, sometimes he'd concentrate on one spot, sometimes Quickman would try very hard not to whip around and furiously catch him in the act, and then sometimes he'd just nod along to whatever Woodman was saying and take his sweet time drinking in every detail--he could feel him doing it! What a great use of time that was, wasting it on staring at Quickman. But he guessed Quint had some kind of twisted appreciation for time, coming from someplace off in the future.

But that didn't make it any less weird.

- - - - -

He sighed as he dropped his helmet next to the bed, having stripped down to his skin-tight silver jumpsuit in preparation for the end of the day. He tended to get to bed before everyone else, up in his own little wing, quick and easy. Early to bed, early to rise, even with Quint tailing him. But Quint wouldn't be able to follow him into the right room--Quick had made sure of that subconciously, dropping a "'Night!" in his namesake, then speeding off to his room before even allowing the new arrival to respond. There was no way he could navigate through the mess of hallways and storage rooms without getting lost.

With a relieved smile, he turned and pulled a pillow from his bed, tossing it to the foot of the bed nonchalantly. He was tired, ready to sleep away the next few hours undisturbed. He tugged at the corner of the covers, and froze as he heard a light knock behind him. Who would bother him after seeing him take off like that? Everyone knew he was about to sleep, and knew better than to try. He stared at the door, hoping he'd just imagined the sound in his subtle paranoia, but winced as whoever was on the other side knocked again with a little more force. He sighed irritably and dropped what he was doing, flitting to the door and yanking it open knowing that whatever the guy had to say had better be some kind of emergency, or Quickman was going to be--

--Very quiet, cutting off midway through demanding "What do you want?" as he looked down (never a good sign, the shorter robots always signified bad news whenever they suddenly made an unexpected appearance). Standing just outside the doorway, his arm drawn back reflexively after having the door jerked away from him, was--who else--the very last person Quickman had hoped to find standing just outside his doorway. And that person was Quint. Every swear word in every language he could think of obliterated the back of his mind--_how did he even find me? He'd have to know where to start looking there's no way he what he doesn't have the luck to just guess so how did he augh what the everloving_ integrated with the mess of foul language randomly repeating itself in unlimited loop, and all of this was jammed together, blended, and forced out of his head through his lips in the words "...Uh, hi?"

Below him, Quint smiled. The shape of the helmet Wily gave him made the smile look devious, but Quick guessed it was probably really a completely innocent and sincere, genuine smile, which of course was a little less preferable to the honestly wicked smile that it looked like at face value. At least if he was smiling and showing he was up to no good then it'd make _sense_. "Hello," he said, confirming the fact that he was smiling normally, and making Quickman shudder just slightly. "May I come in?"

He stood awkwardly holding the door, trying to contain the complicated mess in his head, and responded, "I'm about to go to bed," hoping the insinuation would pass for a real answer.

It didn't. "I won't keep you long," Quint promised. Another few uncomfortable seconds passed, and Quickman, for lack of anything better to do, stepped aside to allow him to enter the room. He shut the door behind him, habitually running his fingers through his hair to try and calm down a bit more. Quint was new, so he probably didn't think before just following him and somehow figuring out where he went, then getting there. He turned back around and briskly returned to his bedside to finish prepping for turning in, hoping that if Quint actually saw him getting ready to go to sleep, he would actually take the hint and leave. Quint himself had stopped near the wall and was resting against it. He broked the quiet by saying, with a light laugh, "I've been trying to get you alone all day."

So he had been singling him out! Quickman couldn't help but smirk in knowing that he'd been right, and not paranoid. And a bit flattered, though he didn't know why Quint would choose him to be the one to stalk; maybe they became great rivals in the future, or he never had another Robot Master whose fight surpassed the difficulty of his tussel with Quickman. He pulled the covers back, piece by piece, making an effort to make each movement very plain so Quint could see, but Quint had lapsed into thoughtful silence. After waiting for him to speak for a good seventy seconds, Quickman adamantly turned around and stared, expecting him to say whatever he had come to say.

The other robot seemed to take note of his feelings. He pulled his own helmet off, revealing that regardless of what reprogramming and redesigning Wily had done to him, or anything that happened in the next stretch of time between that night and the day that Quint had been kidnapped from, he looked identical to the Rockman that Quickman knew. The situation became all the more awkward, and Quint began to laugh.

"What?" Quick snapped impulsively defensive. "What's so funny?"

"The look you're giving me," the smaller android replied, taking Quickman off-guard. "Anyway, I'm sorry. I just wanted to see if you'd still wait for me..."

It must have been significant to Quint in a way that Quickman couldn't quite get, so he simply avoided asking what he meant, and why, turning instead back to fixing his bed to be perfect. He didn't really need a bed, just a pallet with some blankets and a pillow so he could sleep, but so long as he had one he wanted to make the most of it.

Behind him, Quint sighed lightly. "Do you realize the magnitude of what I'm going to have to do tomorrow?" he began. Quick thought for a moment, and understood that he meant fighting his past self. That did seem a little extreme. "I'm going to go in there and try to kill myself. When it all boils down, I'm trying to commit some kind of roundabout suicide."

So he had been trying to get him alone to complain? He rolled his eyes, but an unfamiliar guilt bit at his stomach. Complaining, angsting, or whatever he wanted to call it, he actually had a point regardless. He couldn't begin to imagine having to kill himself for any reason--he loved living too much, and Quint was probably fond of being alive too.

"And..." he continued, "You know, since I'm here at all, that means I've already had to survive this from the other end. I've already lived the part of my past self, fighting my future self. So I know that I'm going to survive, but that means I'm heading in knowing I'm going to lose. It really strips you of your motivation."

"At least you know you aren't going to tear a hole in the fabric of time and destroy the universe through your time paradox," he interrupted randomly. He had decided to try and be somewhat consoling, to make up for his meanness before. Even if he was tired, busy, and uncomfortable, he didn't feel right turning Quint away when he had something like this hanging over him.

Quint laughed again; before he could help himself Quickman felt a somewhat combersome smile tug at the corner of his mouth, then promptly rolled his eyes again to repair the damage. "Yeah, I suppose you're right," the other said. "I should be relieved to know I'm going to lose..."

He heard the light thump of Quint's head lolling back onto the wall. "And besides," Quint continued, "I can use this opportunity to bring solace to myself. There are a lot of things I've done in my life... that I've often looked back on kind of nervously, because I wonder--even now, sometimes--if I was in the right to do them." He groped for an example. "...Like fighting you guys."

His chosen example really took Quick by surprise, prompting him to turn around again. Quint was looking off vacantly, casting a melancholy feel around the room.

His aqua eyes turned back to Quickman. "I know it seems kind of weird--" yet another glorious understatement in regards to Quint!--"But I'm being totally honest. I always hated fighting, but I still did it. I never wanted to hurt anybody, and every time I shut one of you down it ate away at me until I knew you were up and running again, and safe, but then I just went out and killed you again. It was a really vicious cycle, and I've never been okay with it. So now that I'm being sent out, ordered to fight myself..." His somberness remained and mingled with the small smile that appeared on his face. "Maybe I can at least get a few hits in, just so I feel like I kind of paid for the things I've done, and will do, since this version of me has hardly even scratched the surface of the life he's going to lead."

It was such a sad, honest speech. He was really pouring his heart out, and Quickman could only stand there, more ungainly than he had ever been in his _life_. He was built to be the epitome of dexterity, perfectly articulate in physical form, yet he had been easily subdued and frozen by Quint, and Quint hadn't even made mention of the Time Stopper! Was he even the right person to be hearing all this? Why would Quint pick him? He opened his mouth to say something, but his rapid-fire mind failed him, and he closed it, and turned back around to hide his plain embarassment. He retrieved the pillow from the foot of the bed and set about arranging it perfectly as he could. "Sorry," he mumbled apologetically.

"No, it's okay," replied Quint. "You're the one who actually made me feel a little better about it at first." Again, Quickman froze, then snapped back to reality and whipped back around, demanding elaboration with his expression. "You understand, don't you?" Understand what? "What it's like for me to feel wrong about fighting you?" Oh. "You..." He trailed off and smiled again, then lightly shook his head, as if assuring him that he would explain no further. Well, at least Quick understood now why Quint had singled him out to unleash his emotions upon. He somehow had it in his head that he, Quickman, didn't want to be the enemy of him, Rockman. _Rockman_. He had interpreted his awkwardness at having him around as the awkwardness at realizing that he...

That he felt _natural_ having him around. That instead of coming to terms with treating Rockman as a friend instead of an enemy, he was alienated in that he already felt this way, and only just realized it, and the realization caused him the maladroit he felt. Quickman hadn't thought of it from that angle before, yet...

Defeated, he grimaced and returned to working aimlessly on his bed. He really had nothing left to do now except get in it, but he refrained from doing so, now intrigued by Quint's words beyond his desire for sleep. He felt, through the silence that had fallen, the other Robot Master's eyes on him. The gaze was practically physical contact, and he felt it peak at the top of his head, then slowly travel downward, to his feet, then back up again, and then return down, coming to rest on his back. And then the smile that broke through all the negativity he'd exposed was nearly audible.

"Do you want to know a secret?" Quickman wasn't sure if he did. "Turn around." He did as he was ordered, spinning back around yet again to face his visitor. Sure enough, he was grinning at him now that all his inner conflict had been released. Quint slowly reached up, extending his fingers as he did, and pressed the tips of his fingertips lightly against the bottom lid of his left eye. Then he pulled downward, exposing the underside of his eye, and there, printed plainly across the white, read "D R N - 0 0 1" in bold black. His serial number--of course; Quickman had his own in the same place. "Do you know what this means?"

"Duh," he said, finding that this question didn't provoke any confusing moral battles within him, and therefore he could be as clear as he wanted to be. "It means you're the first Light Number. The first Robot Master that Dr. Light built."

"Actually, I'm the second," Quint said. "DRN-000 is my older brother, but anyway, it means that, like you said, I'm a Light Number. But there's more to it than that. I'm Rock. Rock Light. I'm Dr. Light's robot, yeah, but before that I'm his son."

"Son?" he repeated. Since Dr. Wily had built him, Quickman did regard the man as a sort of "father," but he never had and never would call himself his "son." There was nothing familial between them to allow for that kind of word choice. So the idea was a little unfamiliar, although coming from this other robot it did seem fitting.

"Yeah, his son. And I'd never do anything to hurt him on purpose. No matter what." His inflection on the last phrase made it obvious he was asking Quickman to challenge his statement. He thought for a moment, then bit and went ahead.

"How do you say this..." he started to himself, "I hate to break it to you, but so long as you're in Wily's control then you really don't have a choice about that, dad or no dad."

Quint very blatantly laughed at him, pleased he had taken his bait. "Well, how do you say _this_? No matter what Wily thinks or says, he can't change a person's soul."

Soul? Did he just say--was he delusional? Yes he was, but he not even he could stand there and honestly say that he had a... He was an android--they were both androids. Created by science. Designed, constructed, and yes they were programmed but at heart or lack thereof they were more like tools than people, he thought cynically. He lied cynically. He hadn't been alive for too long, really, but for the entire life he'd led he couldn't help but sit there and question himself. He was built with the purpose of being a highly-specialized weapon, but he had thoughts, feelings, too. There was no way that anyone like Wily could make an actual person, but he didn't want to deny himself his own humanity, but he didn't want to be _wrong_. Dammit, what was Quint doing forcing up all these stupid questions?

Quickman was prepared to lash out and send him away, like he should have done when he showed up in the first place, but Quint cut him off again. "Yes, I said 'soul' and I meant it," he said, citing the reason for Quickman's distress without effort. "Dr. Wily may try to use us like weapons, and Dr. Light may..." he stammered, hesitant to lump his father into the same category of human as Wily, but finding it a necessary evil, "May use us as tools a lot of the time. We were initially thought up with the sole purpose of making human lives easier, but that's not all we can do. We have personality, and we have our own ideas, and our own reasons for doing things. We have the same feelings as people do. And whether Wily meant to or not, in your case--I mean, I assume Dr. Light did for mine--he programmed a set of morals into you too. You may not realize it yet, but there are certain things that, no matter what Wily told you, you would never do."

That was true--was it? He couldn't think of a single example, though!

"And the same for me. And no matter how much reprogramming any of us has done, that will never change." Quickman didn't want to give into his words so easily, so he struggled for a counterarguement.

"What about--"

"Cutman and them?" he stole the words right out of his mouth. "I don't know if you got to really interact with them, but if you did, you'd see what I mean. They were set against me, and they fought, but the only thing Wily managed to do was draw on some innate darkness they already had in them." He paused, then added quickly (Quick noted) "I'm not saying they were bad people, though! They really weren't, but they did have... Like Elecman, for example. He's a good person, but he has a really twisted side. Wily worked by providing him an outlet," he stopped long enough to snicker at his pun, "for this side of him. And similarly with the others. He let Bombman think he could party all he wanted, and Fireman thought he had to fight to appease his own idea of what's right and wrong. You know.

"And," he continued before Quickman could get a word in, "the way he works with you guys is identical. I know you're good on the inside," Quick couldn't help but give him an unconvinced look, "but he draws on whatever bad side you do have to work against you. ...And then, of course, there's always that other factor."

'What other factor?" he asked simply for the sake of saying something amidst this massive rant.

"The fear."

"So what, you think I'm scared of Wily?" blurted Quickman.

"No, not really of Wily," Quint explained, "but of the idea he's put in your head. You don't want to oppose the things he says because you're afraid that he'll prove you otherwise about your having a soul. You're afraid that if you try to exert your own humanity, he'll just shut you down, like any other tool or weapon. You just don't want--"

"--To be wrong," he finished before he could stop himself. Quint was quiet, but nodded thoughtfully, and then his smile returned to his face.

"Exactly."

He didn't want to agree with Quint, really, for that very reason! But he agreed with him on that reason. So how could he argue any more? The two of them fell into another silence, that was only broken for a moment when Quint added to his monologue, "So the only reason I'm actually going along with this plan of Wily's is to satisfy my own purposes. Still, I can't help but be a little nervous about it, I guess."

Quickman shrugged his shoulders, waited for Quint to pick his speech back up, then turned back around and stretched, deciding that he wasn't going to. "Sooooo," he started, a little more at-ease about talking to him now, "where are you sleeping tonight, anyway?" It occurred to him that he had no idea. "Wily set a place for you?"

"No, but I'll manage," he said, almost playfully. Quickman paused at his tone, then relaxed again as he heard his footsteps. He was leaving. Quick started to wish him a good night, out of cordiality, but the expression never left his tongue as he felt a sudden light pressure on his back. This pressure yielded to another pressure around his waist, and even without looking down and seeing it he could tell that Quint was now hugging him.

"...Uh, Quint?" he asked.

Quint sighed into his shoulders. Quickman had had people hug him before, of course. Girls and guys. Various reasons. It was always a little strange. Guys hugged him and it was usually joking or some kind of amusing pal-around, so he ignored it. Girls hugged him and it felt weird because he knew they were pretending there was some kind of deeper meaning to it. Quint hugged him.

And with Quint, he hugged him not to be funny or to be cute. He hugged him as if it was exactly what he should do under any normal circumstances. It was a totally natural response, he could tell just by the way his arms conformed effortlessly to his body.

"Thanks for letting me talk to you," he murmured behind him. They remained embraced for a moment, and then he jolted as Quint's hand travelled upward, gently rubbing against his side, and then lightly touching his cheek for a moment.

"Quint?" he started again, too busy tripping over his own confusion to say anything else.

He drew his hand back away and it hovered above his leg, then lightly dusted against him in a spot just above the back of his knee that made him jump. Quint giggled. "You're so jumpy."

"Quint--"

Quint let up at last and relief flooded the taller robot. He whipped around, hoping now to acquire a much clearer answer, but Quint's arms locked him in place yet again with one of his cheery grins. Quickman blinked confusedly down. The smaller robot, on the other hand, stood up on the tips of his metal toes and tucked his head into the taller's neck. They swayed for a moment, and Quick couldn't help but flail, barely stifling a surprised yelp as Quint fell on top of him, backward onto the bed. He swallowed, half-struggling against the smaller form atop him, and shivered as he felt his light breath exhale onto his neck.

"U-Uh, Quint!?" He positioned his hands on him to try and pull him off, but Quint moved his head so he was staring down into his eyes, and he froze again. He really didn't even need to Time Stopper to freeze him, did he? Not at all! And the whole time, Quint was acting like this was perfectly normal. "Quint--"

He was cut off as Quint defied all logic even beyond what he had already done, and very subtly, yet very obviously, nudged his lips with his own. Quick blinked, wide-eyed. Did he just--What did he just do? Quint leaned into him again, more fully this time, pressing his lips down over those of the Wily Number beneath him, and remained. It was a soft, tender kiss, not some kind of sloppy burst of lust brought up from the dark, but the fact that he was being genuine only served to _positively freak Quickman out that much more._ He blinked rapidly, giving him no response to his unprecendented affections. Why had he listened to him talk for as long as he had? Maybe if he hadn't been consoling--maybe that had been misconstrued as some kind of feeling. That must have been it.

But Quint was not getting off of him, even as he did nothing beyond lay there in shock. He was still pressed against him, seemingly expecting the kiss to give way to something deeper (where he got that idea Quickman had no clue). Slowly (painfully slowly), Quint opened his eyes and looked at the terrified Quickman with an expression that seemed to ask why he was refraining from kissing him back. Why did he think he wasn't kissing him back!? For what reason _in hell_ did he have to kiss him at all? Seeing his visual response, at last Quint pulled back away.

"What's wrong?" Quint asked, in perfect innocence.

What's wrong? What's _wrong_? _What the hell!_ He lost it in his head, torn between wanting to throw him across the room as violently as possible and wanting to curl up and hide somewhere, or maybe it'd be better to just pretend this night never happened in any timeline, ever, go to bed, wake up the next morning and go about his life without question. What did he _think_ was wrong? People didn't just show up in other people's private space, bleed their heart all over the floor and then jump on them--especially not Rockman to a Wily Number, and especially not to Quickman! What the crap, what the _hell_, _what the_--

"Oh," Quint said, abruptly interjecting into his chaotic mass of thoughts. "Right, nevermind." He smiled sheepishly, as if embarassed at making some kind of minor mistake. A little error. Quint waitied long enough to casually play with Quickman's hair for a moment, then jumped up and jogged to the door. "Good night!" he said over his shoulder with a wave, then flipped the lightswitch and plunged the room into near-complete darkness, the only light shining in through the window, by shutting the door behind him. As if nothing strange at all passed in his visit.

Leaving Quickman sprawled over his bed, staring blankly at the door. Just staring. He almost didn't want to try and figure out what he had just undergone. He stared a little more, and then, with a groan, put his face into his hands, realizing that he had flushed very, very red. There was no denying that Rockman, Quint, whatever his name was, had a point in everything he'd said. It made sense. He got that. He had then all-but molested him and acted like it was the most ordinary thing in the world, like he should have expected it, because they did stuff like this all the time or something. Quickman turned and wiggled himself into a more comfortable position, lying on the bed, and buried his face heavily in the pillow. Quint had to be some kind of delusional. He just had to be.

Because he was not even going to start to think about any other explanation.


End file.
